If I Should Die
by I'mJustCrazyEnough17
Summary: CP Coulter's Daltonverse. Julian Larson/Logan Wright. Julian and Logan meet at Dalton Cancer Center where they are both being treated. Neither feels satisfied with his life, and neither is happy about the grim prospects they face.
1. Chapter 1

**Well hello there lovely reader! It's me, Helen, your friendly author for this little corner of the internet. **

**This fic is about cancer. That being said, I've been extremely lucky to never have a personal brush with cancer – I've never had it, nor has anyone in my immediate family. I'm being cautious and doing lots of research, but some of the things in this fic may be factually incorrect. If that's the case, absolutely feel free to correct me and I'll see what I can do!**

**That being said, I may take some liberties for the purposes of the fic. This is my creative license but if anyone should ever feel upset or offended by something I write, please let me know!**

**Without further ado, I take great pleasure in introducing to you my brand new Jogan fanfic…**

**If I Should Die**

**Chapter 1**

The sterile white walls were getting to be too much for Julian. They were dulling his shine, he could feel it with every second. When he looked at himself in the mirror, all he saw was a pale white boy, supposed to be in his prime at 24 years old, whose clothes hung off of him, who had dark circles under his faded brown eyes, who could barely look himself in the eye. He used to love seeing himself in the mirror, in pictures, all the time, everywhere he went, he would see himself. He loved it, even if he outwardly complained from time to time. He loved being recognized, seeing that jolt in people's eyes – wait, is that – can it be – are you – Yes, yes I am, he would respond, with a grin. Of course if he was in a bad mood he would lie and say, No but I always get mistaken for him, now get the hell out of here and leave me in peace. But even then, he'd feel a quirk at the edge of his mouth, a tiny little smirk wanting to grace his features. He was _Julian Larson_. No amount of bad moods could ever take that away from him.

And yet. And. Yet. This hospital was taking it away from him. The chemotherapy pumped medicine into him as it sucked who he was away. He was suddenly not Julian Larson, movie star, who walks the red carpet and signs pictures for fans. He was suddenly completely separate from that much more graceful person. Now he was Julian, another cancer patient in what seemed to be an endless cancer center through which people were constantly being processed. In and out, in and out, they came and went like they were doing a dance and it was being performed just for him. He hated talking to people and so he tried to stay in his room. The past few times he'd gone out and attempted to be sociable, those he'd spoken with had either been too starstruck or too sick to carry on a proper conversation. Multiple people he'd spoken with had died not long afterward. He'd gotten out of the habit of making friends.

The only people he talked to were the doctors, nurses, his parents, and those friends who were able to come visit. He'd been sent to a live-in cancer center in Ohio, the best in the nation, naturally. Because it was in Ohio, he had to board there, with all the other live-in patients. This gave him access to state of the art facilities that he had no interest in using, in addition to the best doctors in the country. This made it all the more depressing – when even the best cancer experts in the nation could not help him. In fact he only seemed to be sicker. He knew it was just the chemotherapy but he often wished he could just stop it.

The last time Clark Sawyer had flown in to visit, he'd taken Julian out to eat at a restaurant. Julian threw up in the bathroom, having been injected with chemo just two days before and in no shape to be anywhere far from his hospital bed. The whole episode had been embarrassing and not something he wished to _ever_ relive. He'd made it clear that if anyone wanted to come visit again, they had to do it on his own terms and not stay too long.

He truly hated when friends came to visit. Sebastian had come, once, and he'd spoken about their time in Paris, but Julian hadn't been up to the conversation. He'd snapped at Sebastian to stop talking about it already, why was he always talking about Paris, couldn't he please stop for the love of God. Cameron had come, too, and Julian had been in a sad mood, and he'd cried right in front of his friend and co-star, telling him that he really didn't feel that he was going to make it, and asking what the fans would think and how they would cope. Cameron had looked like he regretted coming alone because he was at a loss for what to say; but he'd just wrapped his arms around Julian, careful not to hurt him in such a fragile state, and said that the fans would cope just fine and it didn't matter anyway because Julian would pull through.

Every time Dolce came she managed to throw in an admonition – as if she herself truly believed that this was Julian's fault. That hurt worse than the chemo, some days. Julian knew that it was his fault, that he'd done this to himself by not heeding the warnings. Everyone told him that cigarettes would give him cancer. But it had hardly been his decision to start smoking, and once he started, it was no more his decision to stop. It was addictive to the core and even now in his very weakened state, he craved the nicotine. He craved something that would make it better and offer him relief, even if it was for a short time, and even if it could genuinely kill him. His lungs couldn't handle it, not even close, and he was banned absolutely from smoking. Still. He thought sometimes it would be easier to die immediately, die happy on a high, than have to face the pain of watching Julian Larson fade from view.

Logan Wright was angry. Some days it was hard not to suffocate his nurses and doctors to death with a pillow; other days it was hard not to use the pillow on himself just to stop all this anger. His father had tried to convince the doctors to let him take his anger medication, but they had refused, saying that it wouldn't cooperate with his system and it would only make the monster attacking him from the inside angrier, even if it would calm Logan himself. Logan was glad he didn't have to take it; he didn't want to live out what he was sure was the end of his life without feeling. It was bad enough that he had to come to Ohio, to what his father said was the best cancer treatment center in the country. It wasn't jack shit, as far as Logan was concerned. It hadn't cured him yet and he felt, inside, that it would be unable to ever cure him. If the cancer didn't take him, surely his own feelings would.

It was like watching a war, only you're both of the opposing generals and all the soldiers too. You're on the front lines, every day and every night. Anger is the weaponry of choice for both sides and they use you as ammunition.

Logan was stuck. He couldn't leave the hospital but he couldn't stay either. He couldn't get better without the treatment, but he couldn't get better with it. Every time they came in to give him more chemo, every cursed day someone arrived in his room with a cheery smile and a huge needle, he wanted to fight. He wanted to throw the nurses to the ground, rip the needle from their hands, and smash it through the window and out into the grass below. He wanted so badly to leave and live his life outside of this jail cell, but he wouldn't have any life at all once he was out there. He'd turned everyone he'd known against him well before entering the hospital or even knowing that something was wrong. People had turned on him for whatever reason, whatever he'd done, and no one had bothered to make the journey from New York to Ohio to visit him. He was almost glad he had to live here, in Ohio, where no one could see his decline. Then again, no one would care even if he was in New York. His father had come a few times for the mandatory meetings that he had to attend to discuss Logan's treatment and progress – there never was any progress to report. All Senator Wright ever had to say to Logan during these visits were thinly veiled threats; threats that he had to get better, or else… Or ways of blaming Logan, as if this was his fault in any way. He had never done anything to cause this to happen to himself. Perhaps he'd abused his own cells one too many times by forcing them into hyperdrive whenever he got angry, but he wasn't even certain that this made medical sense. Leukemia was terrible, but it made it worse to think that it was his fault.

At night when he felt alone, especially when it was raining, he thought about what he'd done to make this happen to him.

The list was too long. He'd done so many things wrong and now, _now_, was the time his regret decided to come out. Now was when his conscience attacked him for everything he had done. It was hard enough growing up in the city with no one but your distant father to keep you company. He'd had to add anger problems to the mix, moods that went up and down like a seesaw, back and forth like a child on a swing set, just fast enough to be very nearly out of control.

Now, with the cancer, Logan was sure he was out of control. They'd brought in a counselor to speak with him about his anger but the counselor could do nothing to help him. He'd suggested that Logan move back to New York to be with his family and friends and receive treatment there, but his father disagreed. None of the centers in New York were as focused and innovative as this.

Logan was facing a fatal diagnosis but no one had the guts to tell him. He felt reckless and angry, like the chemo they pushed into his body was fueling his anger. It was sometimes like nothing he'd felt before, not red hot but instead a sickly green. It sizzled and spat, a green fire, unfamiliar and bitter. Logan had no idea what to do, no way to hold in his rage, and so he yelled and yelled until his throat was raw. He threw the furniture in his room until they'd been forced to remove the chairs (it wasn't like anyone was going to visit him anyway). He was easily their most disagreeable patient, and he'd seen some sore sights during his months at Dalton Cancer Center.

It was an ordinary day that proved to be completely extraordinary. It was decided that the center was filling up too quickly and they needed to start pairing some of the patients together into one room.

Dr. Jones sighed. She pushed back a strand of her deep brown hair and ran the tip of her pen down a list of names. "We need to put him _somewhere_," she said wearily. They'd been through all of the people on his floor and none of them seemed a good match for Logan Wright. "He can't just get a room of his own because he has a temper-"

"We don't want him to hurt another patient," Dr. Wesson interrupted. "He may be a danger to someone."

"Then why don't we put him with someone who won't allow him to step all over him, hm?" Dr. Jones suggested. "Come on, Bob, someone with backbone, someone who won't stand for any temper tantrums."

Bob Wesson tapped his chin with his pen. "Well…" he said slowly, gazing at the list of names thoughtfully. "We haven't yet chosen a roommate for Larson."

Dr. Jones' serious face immediately broke into a smile. "Yes. Oh, yes. That's perfect. Absolutely." She made a mark next to both Logan and Julian's names on her list. "Brilliant."

And so it was decided; Julian Larson and Logan Wright would be living together.

**I hope that if you liked this first chapter you'll consider leaving a review to let me know what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Here's chapter 2… They won't all be up in such quick succession but I'm excited about this story and I've nothing else to do so…voila! Read and review if you enjoy. :)**

**If I Should Die**

**Chapter 2**

_It began with a role. A piece of paper slapped into his hand, his agent jabbering quickly, her bright red nails poking the paper. Julian had been tired that day and would have agreed to anything, even if it happened to be a role as an ex-con chain smoker. This was, in fact, what it happened to be. Julian nodded along as Carmen's words went in one ear and out the other, lost on Julian. Finally, after what seemed ages of chatter, he said, "Okay, yes, yes, I'll do it! I don't care, just get me an audition."_

"_Oh they don't want an audition, Julian, they've specifically requested you," Carmen said, giving him the blank look that suggested she'd already told him this, several times._

"_Oh." Julian nodded slowly as if speaking to a child. "Well then yes, I'll take it, good pay I assume?"_

"_Yes." Carmen seemed slightly hesitant. Julian's bloodshot eyes scanned the paper in his hands. It was information about the role written in ten point font, too small for his eyes to focus on today. "You're alright with it?"_

"_Yes, yes," Julian said impatiently, handing her back the paper. "Have someone get me in my trailer when it's time for my next scene, alright? Thanks, doll."_

_Carmen gave him a look that he wasn't able to interpret, then left._

His new roommate looked sullen. Julian stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the boy sitting on the bed with his laptop open. He had on headphones and was shaking his head at the screen. Julian took a step forward, then another, and when he wasn't noticed, he came to stand beside the bed and peer over the boy's shoulder to look at the screen. On it was sheet music: he was using a composing software. Julian nodded in understanding, as Logan ripped the headphones off, letting them come to rest around the back of his neck. "Who are you?" he asked, even as recognition dawned in his eyes.

"Julian, your new roomie," Julian said in a fake-excited voice, pushing a preppy smile onto his lips.

"Oh God." Logan rolled his eyes. "That's today?"

"Yup. Just got kicked out of my room by a little girl in a wheelchair. She had no legs." Julian said this very matter-of-factly as he headed back to the doorway to retrieve his suitcase. He brought it to the empty bed near the window and set it down.

Logan groaned and put his headphones back onto his head. "God I didn't _want_ a roommate," he grumbled.

"Well too bad because I'm here now." Julian started to unpack his things into the wooden bureau next to the bed, carefully making sure everything was folded neatly so as not to cause wrinkles. The room was silent for a few moments as Julian concentrated, hating the idea that his shirts might be wrinkled while he was dying.

Suddenly, "Will there be cameramen in here?" Logan's voice cut harshly through the silence of the room.

"Um, no." Julian gave him an annoyed look like Logan was the stupidest person he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.

"Will there be reporters?"

"No."

"Paparazzi looking through the window?"

"No."

"Will your _friends _be here?"

Julian slammed a drawer shut. "I don't know, what am I, a fortune teller? Stop with the questions."

"Jesus I just wanted to know what it would be like to room with a celebrity," Logan said. He turned so he was facing Julian.

"No different than rooming with anyone else, I'm pretty sure. It's not like we've told the media where I am, and they couldn't get in even if they wanted to." Julian rolled his eyes. Normal people were always so ignorant.

"Just checking." Logan looked back to his screen but his focus had been shattered. After a few moments of trying to fix the bar he'd been stuck on, to no avail, he looked up at Julian, who was now unpacking with an annoyed face, pursed lips and dark eyes. "So what is it?" Logan asked, sensing that Julian didn't want to be spoken to.

"What do you mean?" Julian asked, stopping and crossing his arms, looking to Logan.

"You know. The C word. Why we're here." Logan spoke loudly and slowly.

"Oh. Lung cancer." Julian motioned to his chest and as if on cue, a cough bubbled up in him that he couldn't hold back. He coughed hard; it seemed to rip through his body. Logan winced and waited, hoping that he wasn't about to witness Julian Larson spew blood onto the floor of his room.

Julian didn't. He just straightened up like nothing had happened and continued to place his underwear neatly into a drawer.

"That's what I thought," Logan said casually, his tone off-hand. Julian turned to glare at him.

"I don't need this right now," he said, a warning in his voice. Logan just smiled a little, loving to antagonize people. "What about you then, what do you have?"

"Leukemia." The word was like a weight that he'd dropped. It sounded like a death sentence when it rolled off his tongue.

"Great." Julian finished unpacking his things and set his suitcase under his bed. He sat down, then stood back up. "I need a walk."

"Don't wear yourself out," Logan called helpfully after the actor as he strode out of the room.

_It began with a bowl. More precisely, a breakfast cereal bowl that clattered to the floor as Logan himself fell in a rush of limbs to greet the linoleum. All was silent in his apartment. He did not move. The bowl lay just next to his still right hand. Everything was motionless. In Washington, D.C., his father sat in a leather chair in a large room, unaware._

_Logan woke up an undetermined amount of time later, alone, weak, hardly able to stand to call 911. He didn't know what was wrong with him but he knew that there was something. His newfound fragility, his aches and pains, his weakness and tiredness. Days dragged on and nights couldn't be long enough. He was pale and didn't want to eat. He was sick and he didn't know what he'd caught, but it wasn't getting any better. And he had no one to take care of him but the people he paid to do so._

_He was taken in an ambulance without the lights flashing. The siren remained silent. Logan laid on the stretcher in the ambulance wondering faintly if he was missing work or if it was a Saturday. Everything seemed confusing and the nurses' jabs and pokes, too rough. "Careful with me," Logan managed to hiss at one of them as she slid a needle into his arm._

"_Sir, we're putting you on an IV drip," she said in the calmest tone of voice possible. "We're being as careful as we can."_

"_Try harder," he practically growled, trying to sit up. Another pair of hands pressed his shoulders and he was forced to lay back down._

"I know, I _know_ that." Julian held his phone to his ear with one hand, the fingers of the other woven through his chestnut hair. His elbows were balanced on his knees and he was staring down at the ground. "I just feel so useless! There is _nothing_ I can do?"

"Julian," Carmen said softly, "you can't overwork yourself, not _now_. You're in that hospital to get better. Part of the reason your mother chose to send you there was so that you couldn't exert yourself so much that you counteract the medicine."

"I'm hardly going to get better with a _roommate_, one who says everything is _my_ fault."

"You know it isn't," Carmen said.

"I know it _is_. Everyone does!" Julian snapped.

"This could have been caused by anything, Julian." Carmen was trying her best but this had never been in her job description. He was barely even an actor anymore, and he clearly wasn't getting job offers. Her sole job was to keep him _away_ from the media, the opposite of what she'd been hired to do. It was only the fact that she cared about him that kept her with him. They'd been through too much together and she'd been with him for every movie, every episode of _Something Damaged_, every interview. She hated the situation almost as much as his own mother did.

"Do you know how people _look_ at me? Like I caused this! Like I was reckless and I made this happen!"

"Julian…" Carmen sounded weak, worn down by having this conversation too many times.

"Look I only called to see if there is _any_ way I could maybe…I don't know, come and direct an episode for a week? Maybe I could _write_ it?"

"You aren't a writer, Julian," Carmen said firmly, "and the stress would be too much. You had to leave _Something Damaged_ for a reason."

Julian sighed in defeat. "I just hate watching and seeing that I'm just…gone. Like they erased me from the show completely. How could they do that, Carmen? Was I not important enough?"

"Of course you were important! You always were and you still are. And you'll come back if you get better but you won't get better if you come out to California for a week."

"I just _hate_ being here," Julian said. "I hate it. I _hate_ it." He kicked the ground.

"I know that you do and everyone hates that you can't still be on the show. But you were really struggling those last few months, Julian, you know it's for the better that you stay uninvolved now…"

"For the better," Julian mumbled cynically.

"_It's for the better, Julian," Clark was saying, rubbing Julian's back as Julian sat in his chair on set, trying his hardest to hold back the tears that threatened to come. "You can't do this anymore. You just can't and that's okay."_

"_No it's not! This is my show! I'm necessary!" Julian was torn between hating everyone for thinking that the show would be able to go on without him, and hating himself for being in a position that forced him off of his own show._

"_Julian…" said Cameron who was on Julian's other side, hand resting on his shoulder. "The show is not the most important thing right now."_

"_Yes it is!" Julian coughed into his hand; when he pulled it away he saw blood, which he quickly hid by sliding his hand beneath his leg. Clark saw and furrowed his eyebrows._

"_Julian this is unhealthy. You need to leave. You know that you do. You can't keep working like this," Cameron was saying._

"_Yes I _can_!" Julian insisted. "The show is nothing without me!" He stood up, pushing their hands away. "It's nothing! Do you people _understand_ that?" He was shouting now and people were staring. He was glad._

_Clark and Cameron looked at each other. Cameron folded his arms over his chest. Clark took a step toward Julian, reaching out…_

"_You can't just make me leave!" Julian shouted even louder. He was marching up to the director and Clark hurried to catch him. He grabbed Julian's shoulder and forced him to turn around._

"_Julian, you're sick! It's just a medical leave! Calm down! It's just for the rest of the season until you get _better_!"_

_Julian huffed. "Yeah, for the rest of the season, until someone decides to cut a bunch of characters and mine gets cut! Then I'll never come back and what then, hm? I won't have my job, I won't have my _health_, I won't-"_

_Carmen, who had been alerted that she needed to come, rushed up to them. "Julian, _stop_," she ordered firmly. "You can return next season. No one is going to cut your character, you need to be _rational_. And you will get better, you're going in for tests Monday. Everything will be fine if you will only stop _yelling_ because you might actually get _fired_!"_

_Julian coughed in response, nearly doubling over with the force of it. He stood when he was finished and was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. "Fuck all of you," he said, pushing past Clark and walking out._

"Anyway, like I was saying, I don't need any diva tantrums in here. There's no crying in this room." Logan had been interrupted momentarily by a nurse coming in to deliver a stack of letters that had come for Julian.

"I've heard you've thrown some pretty big tantrums so it sounds like you're just talk until the nurses come in with the big scary needle," Julian retorted, tearing open the top letter, from a girl named Arianna from Texas.

Logan crossed his arms. "Like you've never thrown a tantrum. I bet yours are the ultimate Hollywood Diva Fits."

"Oh yeah? Well explain why we aren't allowed to have any furniture in here that you might be able to _lift_." Julian gave him a pointed look.

Logan huffed. "Just read your fanmail and pretend people care," he said dismissively, turning back to his composition, which he was still working on.

Julian glared but Logan wasn't looking anymore. He turned back to the letters but he couldn't focus on them. Logan was right. How did he manage to be _right_ when he didn't even know Julian?


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Helen here. I hope that you've enjoyed the first two chapters and that you enjoy this one too. After all, your enjoyment is why I do this! If you like it, let me know by leaving a review, following and favoriting, or you can even find me on tumblr: allonsyhelen.**

**If I Should Die**

**Chapter 3**

Julian stood at the desk, smiling his movie star smile. He leaned forward so his forearms rested against the desk; the nurse sitting before him, Jackie, was visibly affected by this. He loved that. "Now, I'm just going to ask again, just one more time, and all I want is an attempt from you. Just one little tiny bit of effort, that's all I need from you, Jackie."

She was shaking her head even as her eyes were drinking him in. _Julian Larson._ "I can't, Mr. Larson, these are the rules."

"Please." Julian still had on his smile but it was waning with every second she refused him. "It's _very_ important for my healing process that I have a single room."

"We know that it isn't," Jackie said. Her resolve was trembling and he could see it.

"I checked myself in and I could check myself out," he said a little loudly, loud enough that the passing tall blond heard. Logan stopped and came to stand next to Julian, smiling wide.

"Hello, roomie!" he exclaimed.

Julian's lips drew into a thin line as he turned to Logan to shoot him an icy glare. "Nevermind," he muttered to Jackie, walking away in the opposite direction of Logan. Logan followed him.

"Was that a diva tantrum?" he asked as he easily kept up with Julian as the latter briskly walked down the hall.

"No it was _not_," Julian said with annoyance seeping into his tone. "I was simply telling _her_ what is best for _me_."

"Well she's the medical professional, shouldn't she know what's best for you?" Logan asked just to be obnoxious. He had very little entertainment here, even with over 300 tv channels, his laptop, and the piano they had in the music room. He was almost glad that he had Julian now, Julian who was so easy and fun to annoy.

Julian rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just take a hike?" he asked.

"Because being with _you_ is so much more _fun_," Logan replied easily.

"But I don't even want you around, Logan! You're annoying as hell!"

Logan just laughed. "And you're in a bad mood."

"You would be too if you were in my situation!" Julian exclaimed.

Logan's bright green eyes darkened. "_If _I were in your situation?" he asked. "If?"

"Yeah, if." Julian stopped walking, angling himself toward Logan, crossing his arms over his chest, prepared for battle.

"What exactly is the situation you're in that I am _not_ in?" Logan demanded. The blood in his veins was beginning to pump just a little faster.

"_I_ had to leave my job, my friends, my fans, my entire life to come here, to Ohio, where I'm not recovering at all, and everything just worsens each day! And now I have a roommate who is annoying and rude and doesn't respect me in the least!" Julian was fuming, full of self-pity.

Logan rolled his eyes. "I had to leave my job and my entire life in New York to come here, too, Larson, and I'm not recovering either. My prospects are _just_ as grim as yours and my roommate is also annoying and rude and in addition to not respecting me, he's a self-centered asshole!" He was practically screaming by the end, his hands balled into fists.

"I'm _not_ a self-centered asshole, you're just not giving me a chance! I tried to be nice but you were rude from the _very_ beginning," Julian shot back. His throat was starting to ache, already raw enough, but he didn't care. People were staring but it only seemed to fuel the argument that much more.

"I'm only rude because that's who I am! You act like you're a saint but you only think about yourself!" Logan stepped forward to jab Julian in the chest, which, on second thought, was a bad idea. Julian coughed and then glared.

"I'm allowed to think about myself!" he said lowly, fighting off another cough. "I'm dying!"

"Well I'm dying too!" Logan exclaimed.

The two boys stared at each other for a moment, each trying to figure out how to put into words that he was dying _more_, or why he was more entitled, or what exactly it was that was so wrong with the other. Neither could find appropriate words for their anger, so they just stood for a time, glaring, before Julian turned on his heel and walked quickly away. Logan crossed his arms and walked in the opposite direction, giving everyone a glare to make even the bravest of them cower.

_The cigarette between his lips felt unnatural. Benjamin Grant, the director, was standing before him, cigarette wagging between his own lips. "Julian, darling, you're like a cigarette _virgin. _You're perfect in all the other ways but this is non-negotiable. You have to talk, breathe, think, _act_ like a smoker. You have to believe in your heart that you need these things to live." He held up one of the small sticks. "This is your life-line. You got that? This is your morning, day, and night. You breathe this in, you're happy. You don't, and you're depressed. You're practically suicidal. Do you understand that? Can you get yourself into that mindset?"_

_Julian was listening, nodding, but he'd never smoked a cigarette in his life before coming here to film this particular movie._

"_It needs to seem natural for you, Julian, I don't know what else to tell you." Ben grabbed the cigarette from between his lips. "You know what, let's just…call it quits for today. Over the weekend I want you to think, _really_ think, about smoking, about what it is and what it means. Alright?" He gave Julian a pat on the back. "Go home, kid."_

_Julian nodded. "Thanks, Ben," he said._

_That night Julian drove to the drug store and bought a pack of cigarettes. He had only just turned 18 and hadn't thought he'd ever buy them. It felt strange to ask for cigarettes, and even stranger when the clerk just handed them to him. Julian almost wanted to shake his head and give them back, say "Nevermind." He hated the smell of cigarette smoke and he thought it was a disgusting thing to do. He almost couldn't believe that he was really doing this. It was one thing to smoke for the camera; it was another thing to smoke on his own with cigarettes he'd bought._

_He went home and took his mom's lighter. He lit the cigarette, standing in his bedroom, and took a drag. It was clear what he had to do. He had to get the hang of it._

_At first he hated it but he finished the first cigarette and put the butt in his mother's ash tray. She was a self-proclaimed 'incidental smoker,' meaning she only smoked when she felt it necessary. After his parents had divorced, Julian often came home to see his mother smoking around the house. She tried to hide it from him for awhile but eventually gave up trying. She told him it was a nasty habit, even as she took a drag, and they both continued on._

_All weekend, Julian smoked a cigarette each hour, on the hour. His mother didn't appreciate it much, telling him she thought it wasn't necessary, but he assured her that it really was, that the director had basically told him he had to do it. She'd just sighed and walked away. She couldn't very well discourage him from something she herself couldn't stay away from._

_He really had hated it at first but by the end of filming, he couldn't get enough. He'd started out heavily and he continued to smoke heavily. He couldn't help himself; it was too much, too good. The nicotine softened every blow, every bit of pain, all of the hardships that an actor has to go through. Every role he didn't get, every rejection he received, every time he slept with someone and found, at the end, that it had not meant anything at all… The cigarettes were there through all of it, there to keep him company and to cushion the blows. Nothing was too painful, nothing was too hard, that the cigarettes couldn't fix._

Julian was lying in his bed. The moon was casting a glow across the blanket. He pulled his covers up tighter around himself, shivering slightly. It was the kind of night he thought a smoke really wouldn't go amiss.

Logan wasn't asleep, either. He couldn't stop thinking about how his father was coming to visit in just three days. Three days…that wasn't nearly long enough. He heard Julian turn over and he'd just about had it with his tossing and turning.

"Would it kill you to stay still?" he asked.

Julian was startled. "Uh-"

"Anyway if you're not going to sleep then at least make yourself useful and do _something_," Logan continued.

"It's 1am. Do you have any errands I should run? Are we out of milk?" Julian's tone was overly sarcastic.

"I was going to suggest you practice lying still," Logan said. "But if you want to just leave that would be even better."

Silence. Then, "Why are _you_ in such a bad mood tonight?"

Perhaps it was the time or delirium or desperation that made him say, sarcastically, "My _favorite_ visitor is coming in three days."

"What, your period?"

"No, fuck you. My dad."

"Your dad is your _favorite_ visitor?" Julian mocked Logan's tone.

"Also, my only visitor," Logan said. "Now lie still so I can sleep."

Julian didn't respond and he did his best to lie still. He wondered why Logan's dad was his only visitor and why he disliked him. He watched Logan's still form and listened as the other boy's breathing slowed. Finally, he himself fell asleep, still wondering what more there was to Logan that he had yet to learn about, and also wondering why he cared.

**Leave a review if you liked it! Reviews fuel and encourage me. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello lovelies! This chapter has taken a few days longer to get out than the previous three, and with a job and school, I must say that this is probably the general frequency with which they will be updated. I will absolutely try to get out one chapter a week, shooting for one every three or four days, if not more often! That being said, I am still completely fueled by reviews, and those that have been left so far have made me incredibly happy. Please consider leaving a quick review if you're reading and enjoying this! :)**

**If I Should Die**

**Chapter 4**

Senator John Logan Wright Jr stood in the doorway of the hospital room; Logan stood across from him, arms crossed. The tension in the air was so tight that it could be felt by Julian, who paused just behind Senator Wright. He had only just walked up and had yet to be noticed, so he dodged out of sight, standing against the wall next to the door, listening.

"…and won't this be good for the campaign? Don't you think you'll do so much better in the polls? Because now you don't have a gay son. You have a dead son. When someone is dead their sexuality isn't a _threat_ to you!" A crash, something being dropped. "So why don't you just save it? Save all the trouble, just let me _go_."

"Logan." The deep voice of Senator Wright was calm, diplomatic, too political to be used in a setting like this. It was as if he were speaking to prospective voters and not his own son. "You have to calm down now. You don't have a death sentence over your head."

"Oh, don't I?" Logan demanded. "You have to be stupid not to notice that I'm dying!" Another crash.

"Logan, calm _down_," his father hissed. "You're going to attract attention and that is the last thing I need."

"Oh the last thing _you_ need? Fine!" A louder crash. Julian winced and hoped these weren't his belongings that were being thrown about. "Because all _you_ need is for a story to leak from some middle-aged nurse who heard this argument, hm? Would that look bad in the press? Well fucking _good_!" He was screaming now. Julian rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

"Logan so _help_ me God I will-"

Julian didn't get to hear the threat because he heard a delicate throat clear next to him. He whirled about, like a child who's been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. A pretty blonde woman stood before him. "Hello," she said. "Is this Logan's room?"

Another crash and a shout. They both winced. It was abundantly clear now, but Julian nodded anyway. "Yes, it is, I'm not sure you want to go in there now though…"

"Who are you? Are you a friend of Logan's?" the lady asked.

"I'm Julian." Julian paused – waited for the recognition – her eyes brightened. He smiled.

"Ah." She just nodded. "I'm Michelle. I'm Logan's – well, I'm his step-mother."

"Oh." Julian held out his hand and Michelle took it and shook. "Nice to meet you. I guess I'm his roommate."

More shouting came from the room. Michelle sighed. "Maybe I should go in there," she said. She sounded resigned. "I don't understand why the two of them can't get along. I never understood it, but especially _now_. Considering…" She made hand motions.

Julian just nodded. There was another loud noise from the room and Logan shouted, "You've never BEEN a father!"

Michelle gave Julian a withering look and pressed past him and into the room, a soldier heading into a battle that she's all too familiar with.

Logan was standing with a book in his hands, above his head, ready to throw it down onto the ground. Michelle stood in the doorway, just stood there, waiting to be noticed. It didn't take long. Logan paused as he brought the book down, and it fell to the tiles on the floor with a light thud. "Michelle." His voice was a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Julian continued to listen, not wanting to reveal himself. This was far too interesting to _not_ hear.

"Maybe you should leave, John." Michelle put her hand on her husband's arm. "I'll take care of this? Go talk to the doctors?" She said it as if it was a simple suggestion but it was clearly a command. Senator Wright walked out the door and brushed past Julian, not even noticing him. Julian stared after the man in his business suit with the broad shoulders. He walked with a purpose. Julian wondered why Logan hated him so much. Maybe it was the lack of interesting things to do, but this was suddenly like a soap opera and he wanted in on every dirty detail. Whether it was from a place of caring or casual interest, he didn't know.

In the room, Michelle had gotten Logan to sit down on the bed. He was busy taking deep breaths and counting to ten as she'd instructed him. "Now," she was saying, calmly brushing his hair out of his face. "How are you doing?"

He cut her a look. "I'm doing just dandy," he said sarcastically. Michelle sighed at his difficulty. She tried so hard to be a mother to him, but she felt that she wasn't cut out for the job, especially not _now_, under these circumstances. She had been horrified and upset to hear that he was sick. It had broken her heart as much as it had broken his father's, and more than it had broken his real birth mother's.

"Logan," she said tiredly, "your father and I have flown a long way to be here to see you, and you act like you don't want to see us at all."

"I want to see _you_," Logan said earnestly. He did. He loved Michelle more than he loved his real mother – significantly more. "I just know that my father doesn't want to see me."

"Now that is just not true," Michelle insisted. "Your father does want to see you. He worries about you."

Logan shook his head. "I don't know about that," he said honestly, roughly. "I just…I don't know." He didn't want to – couldn't – spill his feelings here: The feeling of inadequacy his father had always left him with. The feeling that he was alone in the world, lacking anyone constant who would fight for him. The feeling of shame that his father had given him by always tucking him away when it came to the media, excusing his behavior as you would excuse a dog's. The feelings of anger, however, were the strongest. He had always harbored this anger without knowing why. Now it had doubled; while he was relieved to be free of his medication, without it his mood swings were worse than ever and his temper was far too strong. In the face of sickness – death – he was so angry. Seeing his father only gave him an outlet.

Michelle somehow heard these feelings in his voice without understanding them. She wrapped her arm around him and hugged him tight to her, despite the fact that he towered over her. "Shh," she said softly, as if to calm him. "It's alright, baby." It was as if she were talking to a child, and she may as well have been, because a moment later Logan felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Whether they were tears of relief or fear or both, he wasn't sure.

_Travis Armstrong stood in the doorway of the large room with the vaulted ceiling. Windows that ran from the floor to the ceiling let in the natural light, bathing the room in a soft late afternoon glow. Despite this, the room was cold. Dolce Larson sat on the couch, perched, as if ready for flight. Julian, between them – as always – sat on the white leather arm chair. It was as if a meeting had been called and now the unwilling members of the society had gathered. No one knew what to say. The bomb had been dropped – cancer – and now someone needed to step forward to begin damage control._

"_Clearly," Travis said, clearing his throat, "something needs to be done."_

_Dolce's eyes alighted on him. "Yes, _thank you_, Travis," she said in a sarcastic tone. "Ever the clever one."_

"_Yes because you were being so helpful, Dolce," he responded, matching her tone._

"_We already were aware that something must be done." Dolce's voice was tired. She'd been speaking with producers all day._

_Julian's hands shook. He coughed. His parents ignored it – they were in familiar territory, arguing with each other, and did not wish to stop just so they could face their son and his illness. It was safer to argue than to mention that their son had a problem of any sort._

"_Something had to be done a long time ago and you didn't do it," Travis said, eyeing the cigarette carton on the coffee table. Julian eyed it too, hungrily._

"_We don't know that this is due to the smoking, Travis, we can't assume anything, the doctors said that," Dolce responded._

"_But it could be caused by that, yes? Everyone knows that the majority of lung cancer patients are smokers!"_

_It was as though Julian wasn't in the room at all. It was all too reminiscent of a childhood spent silently watching his parents fight about every inane thing, and even more about the important things. Now he wished they would make an effort, for his sake, to keep it together. He wished they could present a united front, the three of them, against the disease he could feel inside his lungs with each breath, that forced wracking coughs from his lips far too often. He was scared and it was clear that they were too. He longed for the days when his father was a big, strong man who could kill the bogeyman in Julian's closet and the monsters under his bed. Now the monster was inside of him and his father didn't seem to have any fight in him._

"_We aren't going to sit and discuss why this is happening," Dolce said firmly. "We're going to discuss his treatment. Because the fact is that whether it's his fault or not, it's happening and we need to deal with it."_

_Julian wanted to hug and thank her, but his father didn't feel the same._

"_You're done with smoking, Julian," he said, turning to his son. "Do you understand that?" As if he were a five year old._

_He looked blankly at his father. "I lack the lung capacity to smoke one even if I tried, father," he said witheringly. He wasn't sure it was true but he was on strict orders not to find out._

_Travis sighed. He wasn't a bad man. Julian knew that he wasn't. Julian also knew that he was stressed and upset, and that these situations elicit reactions beyond our control. He just wished his father would say, "I'm upset that this is happening," hug him, and then say, "Do you want me to help you?"_

_The answer, of course, would be yes. _


End file.
